


Revenge, the sweetest morsel to the mouth

by middlemarch



Category: Little Women (2019), Little Women Series - Louisa May Alcott
Genre: Endearments, F/M, Friedrich gets his comeuppance, Marriage, Memories, Professors, Romance, brief reference to Amy Laurence, for his terrible "constructive" criticism, men in glasses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:01:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22108273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: Jo determines what's good for the goose is good for the gander. Or, how Jo teaches Friedrich the consequences of brutal honesty.
Relationships: Friedrich Bhaer/Josephine March, Theodore Laurence/Amy March
Comments: 8
Kudos: 145





	Revenge, the sweetest morsel to the mouth

It was the wire-rimmed glasses. It was the slant of light coming from the window behind Friedrich, the angle of his bent neck, his wrist holding the pages, the stillness of the air around him as he concentrated on what he read. It was her reality and her memory, that thoughtful look in his eyes when she took an audible breath, when he saw her so clearly. The weight of her hair at her neck was the same, her hands smoothing down her woolen skirt. She crossed over to him swiftly, without saying a word, and settled herself effortlessly on his lap. 

It was a bit of deviltry and she admitted it. Reveled in it.

“Jo? Is something—" Friedrich began but she didn’t let him finish, putting her hands up to his face to take his spectacles off, leaning in for a kiss. The glasses dangled in her left hand, her right cupped to his cheek. His beard was a little rough against her palm and she sighed with the pleasure of it; the sound was an alarum for him, for suddenly his arms were around her and she was even closer. She moved her hand to the nape of his neck where his dark curls grazed his collar and felt him stroking her sides with his hands, confident, desirous. He shifted so he could kiss her throat, his hand deftly freeing the buttons at her collar and down her bodice. She lost count after three. When she felt his lips just above the lace of her chemise, she let herself cry out softly and cling to him.

“ _Meine perle_ …” he breathed against her skin. His voice was low, closer to basso profundo than his usual baritone and his accent was heavier. She felt him restive, eager; through her skirt and petticoats, she could feel the muscle of his thighs, her body familiar with his now. She moved slightly, purposefully, knowing he would be roused further. Glorying in it. His hands tightened on her and he kissed her again, tasting her, his urgency escalating dramatically. No one could have believed the solemn professor was this flushed rogue; his hair mussed, his dark eyes fiery, he looked every bit the pirate he’d decried. She bit down gently on his lower lip and he almost growled. The imp guiding her heard its cue. She pulled back, just far enough to speak. He must have expected endearments, honeyed murmurs.

“I don’t like it,” she said with as much certainty as she could muster, remembering how her heart had pounded, feeling light-headed now even though he held her steady.

“Josephine? Heart’s dearest?” He sounded so confused and he said her name so beautifully, as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world, she almost relented and kissed him. But that insistent imp prodded her, reminding her of how his eyes had looked the just this way when she’d waited for his verdict across the room, her hands clasped together to keep from trembling.

“It’s not good,” she said. But she took her hand and tilted his face so he could see her face. Could see the way her lips curved and the light in her eyes. She saw when he understood, that moment just before he squeezed her, fingers at her ribs making her yelp, a sound she recognized as unladylike and so entirely herself. He pulled her close, nipped the corner of her jaw, then her earlobe. Amy might wear all the diamond and sapphire earbobs she liked; Jo wanted nothing that would have interrupted her husband.

“Not good? You don’t like it, _schatz_?” he muttered. “What dost thou want? An apologia, written in mine own hand? An encomium? Shall I go on my knees before thee?” he asked, his meaning perfectly, terribly, incitingly clear and she gasped in delighted shock, that he would seek to match her. Overwhelm her. On his knees, his hands tracing the letters upon her skin…

“Not here,” she said. “What you—what thou hast offered, making amends, yes, but not here.”

“I cannot travel back in time, as much as I might like. As much as I might regret how I spoke to thee,” he said. She heard the remorse in his tone, not that he had told her the truth, but that he had made it a weapon when it might have been a tool. When she had turned away rather than ask him how to wield it, her eyes filled with tears she wouldn’t let him see.

“Upstairs,” she said, all devils and imps having fled, leaving only the two of them. “I made sure, no one will want us for an hour.”

“Only an hour?” he said. No one but she had ever heard him speak thus, at least not in America, not since he had become a professor of philosophy and the headmaster of a school, a husband, a stalwart of the community. She heard a pirate, a desperado. Her lover. “I think, I know thou art owed far more than that.”

**Author's Note:**

> This pic assumes that Jo and Friedrich actually do marry *and* that Jo still gets her book published. Because the woman who has ambition and also cries out "I'm so lonely" should get her heart's desire in fan fiction at least!
> 
> The 2019 Gerwig version did not make me like Amy any better (though I weirdly sort of pity Fred Vaughan now.)
> 
> Title from Sir Walter Scott


End file.
